Love Hurts
by Bianca tabbycat
Summary: They say love gives one the power to hurt; how true that is in her life. One-shot.


_Hey, everyone! This is just a one-shot I came up with when thinking there is NO happy ending in Dramione fics. Well, this is the result. I know this sucks, but I couldn't let this stay in my USB for no reason, right?_

_Please, R & R!_

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><p><strong>Love Hurts<strong>

They say love gives one the power to hurt; how true that is in her life.

She still remembered that day with perfect clarity, as though it had been yesterday, the day that changed her whole life – September the first, 1991. It was the day that she embraced and accepted her magical powers; it was the day she met her future best friends; and most importantly of all, the day she saw him.

He had caught her attention at once, on that day, when they were waiting for Professor McGonagall to bring them to the Sorting. He had always stood out in a crowd, for how could he not, with his platinum, silky blond hair and stormy, determined grey eyes? He had stridden to the three-legged stool with a confident air about him; she had thought, at that time, that he carried himself like royalty. His features had lightened up when the hat named his house, and she had felt a small twinge of regret in her heart as she watched him go to the table at the opposite end of the Hall.

He had bullied her from the start on her appearance, her eagerness to answer their professors' questions, her blood status. They had always stung, these insults, though she hid it well under her indifferent air, her own witty retorts, her loftiness, and she would bury herself in work in an attempt to forget them. When she was alone, however, tears would spill from her shining eyes, and she would welcome them, let them come freely. For the insults was true – her appearance _was_ plain, she _was_ a bookworm, and she _was_ a Mudblood. They would, perhaps, be easier to ignore if they were false, but they were true, and this just made it sting all the more.

Being bullied by the one she loved, being thought that she was the dirt on his shoes, seeing his face every day and longing for those features to form a true smile… All these hurt like she could never believe, and she had endured it for five years, all alone. She had never confessed her feelings for him, even to Harry and Ron, and so her secret remained a secret.

In her sixth year, he had slowly realized her feelings for him. He had caught her staring at him in lessons, seen the blush creeping on her cheeks and the hurt, the sorrow, and the longing in her eyes. It had been heaven for her, when he took her out to Hogsmeade and acted like the perfect gentleman – opening doors for her, giving her sweet gifts, paying her charming compliments. She had forgotten the other darker side of him, choosing instead to bathe in his attention. Their relationship had brought her joy and bliss she had never known, but yet it had only lasted a week.

He had made love to her by the end of the week. It was not gentle, not loving for a virgin like her, but rough and hasty. She had still loved every moment of it, the unfamiliar process, but in the morning, it was as if nothing of the past week had existed. She had gone up to him, asking for an explanation, only to hear his harsh words, "You honestly thought I had feelings for you? You're more stupid than I thought; you were nothing but a one-night stand, nothing but a Mudblood."

She had sat, staring at the starless night after the confrontation, her tears having run dry long ago. She had felt detached from her body, emotionless; for her heart had been broken, shattered into uncountable pieces by the only man she had loved. She had seriously deliberated over the idea of death that night; it was only her parents and Harry who needed her to help destroy the Horcruxes that kept her heart beating.

Her friends had noticed, of course, that there was something wrong with her. They didn't ask her what happened, but chose instead in help her, in any way they could. Their efforts were useless, however, for there was no cure for a heart that was crushed. She sometimes thought of her heart as fragments of glass; every time someone tried to pick them up, to mend them, the sharp edges would cause them to fail, always. Her heart, even now, was smashed, ruined beyond recover.

Her parents were in Australia, with no memory whatsoever of her; the war was over, the Horcruxes were destroyed. Now, there was no longer any reason for her to stay alive, no target to achieve. Even death should be better than this endless suffering in her life. It would be peaceful, at last, in the realms of the death, for surely her memories would perish when she left this world.

She opened her balcony doors on the third floor, taking in a breath of fresh air. She was lucky her house was in the countryside, for no one would see her. The balcony railing was low, and she was glad of that now. She swung her legs over it, balancing herself so she wouldn't fall. She stared out at the distant city lights, so bright in the complete darkness that surrounded her, for it was, once again, a starless night.

She took out a white envelope and left it on the table; they would find it soon enough. She took a last look at the beautiful trees, the grass, the flowers, all in shades of grey and black.

She slipped off the railing.


End file.
